After the initial shock wore off, my parents looked at me with a mix of disappointment and reproach. Isabella sat quietly, content to let them handle me. She kept reassuring them, suggesting that maybe I had my reasons.

My mother, clearly irritated, snapped, "Your sister is standing up for you, yet you still act so irresponsibly for your age!"

The waiter had already brought out all the dishes, but I just took a sip of water.

"You told me before that all the family money is to be reserved for Isabella, and that I should fend for myself without seeking help from you. So, does it really matter if I make my own decisions now?" I replied.

My father looked at me with disappointment, saying, "Why divide a family like that? I admit, over the years, we've leaned a little more towards your sister in terms of material things, but the love we have for both of you is the same."

Maybe parents who play favorites do comfort and deceive themselves like this. Say it enough times, and they might even believe it.

"And now, how much money do you have left?" my mother asked directly, realizing that the emotional appeal wasn’t working.

"Not much," I lied calmly, "just about a couple of thousand dollars for living expenses."

In truth, after making the down payment, I still had a few grand stashed away for emergencies.

My mother, holding back her anger, asked, "Just a couple of thousand? Why didn't you save more? What if something comes up? We don’t have any money to give you."

"What kind of emergency are we talking about?" I smiled in response.

My mother was at a loss for words.

Isabella glanced at our parents and then suggested, "Mom, Dad, maybe we should tell Genevieve. She's still part of the family."

My father sighed heavily and began to lament. Just as I remembered it happening before, it was about his friend borrowing the car and getting into an accident, leaving him without the funds to cover the costs.

He lamented that the victim threatened to cause a scene at the university where he taught if they didn’t get compensation. After his story, he looked at me expectantly.

Why look at me? I told them I was broke.

So, I played along with a deep sigh too.

My father still had some pride and couldn’t bring himself to ask me directly, so he hesitated and mumbled.

Isabella, who had been quietly eating, suddenly played her role as the "considerate daughter" and urged me to "think of a solution."

I suggested with a smile, "Why not use the family savings for now?"

My mother raised an eyebrow, about to protest, but my father signaled her to stop.

Isabella then said regretfully, "It’s all my fault. Mom and Dad said they wanted to buy me a house for when I got married, but I'm not sure I'll ever get the chance. Maybe we shouldn’t buy it after all…"

My mother hugged Isabella tightly, "Don't talk like that. We have to buy that house. Good deals like this don’t come often."

I shrugged, "I really can’t help."

"Genevieve, I know this might be difficult for you, but could you try borrowing some money from your friends or colleagues? You know, at our age and position, it’s hard for us to go around asking for money…" Isabella pleaded, lowering her stance.

University professors and company executives can’t borrow money, can they?

"My social circle isn’t exactly rolling in spare cash, who could easily lend tens of thousands of dollars?"

All three fell silent.

It wasn’t about newfound conscience or familial sympathy. They just realized I was stating the truth—no amount of emotional blackmail would produce the money they wanted.

But Isabella wasn’t ready to give up her scheming.

"Could you ask your boss for a loan, maybe?" she suggested.

"No." I replied bluntly.

"What did you say?!" My mother was visibly irritated.

I gave a sardonic laugh. "On what grounds am I supposed to ask my boss for money? How would I repay it? What about my mortgage?"

"Why are you living away? Just rent out the new place and move back home. Then you can work and repay the boss," she suggested.

"Why would I choose to live in a cramped attic room when I have a spacious house of my own?" I stood up, adding, "Let’s just stop staying in touch."

The three of them looked shocked again, probably not expecting that I, who had always been so accommodating, would genuinely refuse to go along with their demands this time.

Even my father, who had been relatively civil towards me, changed his expression. "Are you cutting ties with us? Don’t forget that legal obligations of support can't be waived!"

He softened a bit, "Why make a fuss? Just apologize to your mother, and you’re still our good daughter."

"No need," I said, waving and heading to the door. "You’ve got Isabella as your good daughter. I’ll fulfill my legal obligations—when you turn 60, you can take it to court, and I'll pay exactly what they decide."

"Genevieve!"

"What?" I laughed as I replied, "I haven’t touched a single dish at this table. You’re not expecting me to pay, are you?"

"Get out! From now on, your father and I will consider we never had a daughter like you!"

Perfect.

I thought my mother might actually mean it, but not even two hours later, I received a text from her using a new number: Isabella said she’ll borrow money from Peyton; if you want to return home, you're responsible for paying it back.

Ah, I forgot to block that number earlier.

I didn't respond immediately. I waited a moment before unblocking my mother and sending her a message: "I need to discuss some details regarding the loan."

My mother replied brusquely, "What details?"

Seeing this, I quickly began recording the screen and audio, then replied: "Mom, Dad's friend borrowed his car and got into an accident. The responsibility for compensation is first on his friend, then on Dad. How am I involved?"

She immediately shot back, "What do you mean by that? Like it or not, you have to pay it off!"

She even sent a voice message: "And don't go bothering Peyton about this. You can pay through your father and me. You've broken up with him, and he's interested in your sister. Be sensible and leave them alone."

She then sent more voice messages, criticizing me for not being as considerate as Isabella. Seeing no useful information, I blocked her again.

I turned on the TV, which was airing an interview with Peyton Fox.

The reporter asked him, "Many of your fans are curious about your personal life. What kind of girl do you like?"

He smiled and said, "Actually, there's a girl I've liked since we were kids. I plan to confess to her after this tour."

With Peyton Fox's massive following, admitting he likes someone was quite a bombshell.

The reporter seemed surprised and asked, "Since childhood? So you've never been in a relationship?"

Peyton paused before responding, "No, I haven't."

Was I dating a ghost this whole time?

Oddly, I was calm. Hearing Peyton's words didn't stir any sadness in me. The heartbreak and confusion during our breakup now felt like a lifetime ago.

The reporter concluded with a smile, "Well, I wish you success in both your tour and your confession."

And I hope you and Isabella live happily ever after, like a match made in heaven.

Peyton's words set the internet ablaze, with trending topics like "Peyton Fox confesses," "Peyton Fox has someone special," and "Peyton's childhood sweetheart" staying at the top.

After quickly skimming through this nonsense, I closed Twitter and decided to watch a movie.

The buzz lasted until Monday and then finally began to die down.

After work that day, I found Isabella waiting outside my office building, looking all pitiful.

"Genevieve, can we talk? Just for a moment!"

"If you don't want to, just say no."

Kingsley's voice came from behind as he walked up beside me, concern in his eyes.

"Need help?"

"No, I got this."

With just Isabella here, I wasn't so weak.

"If you need anything, call me," Kingsley said, giving Isabella a brief glance, "or the police."

I chuckled. "I know, thanks."

I hesitated to call him by name, concerned about being too familiar with my boss, so I kept it vague.

Isabella, hearing the word "police," coldly replied, "Mr. Lynch, you're exaggerating. I'm Genevieve's sister. How could I harm her?"

Kingsley ignored her and went to get his car.

Isabella's expression faltered, and she awkwardly changed the subject, "Genevieve, let's find a place to talk."

Not wanting to prolong the conflict, I agreed to go to the café across the street.

As soon as we sat down, Isabella urgently said, "Genevieve, I didn't know Peyton would say that on TV!"

Quietly, I started recording on my phone.

She continued, "Genevieve, if you’re not okay with it, I won't accept him!"

Here we go again.

"Did anyone else know you came to see me?"

"N-No, I rushed over without telling anyone else."

"Alright, let me be clear. Whatever your relationship with Peyton is, I don't care. Whether you’re together or not is none of my business."

I stood up to leave, but Isabella grabbed my hand again.

Damn it! I was genuinely afraid she'd pull some stunt and fall, making it impossible for me to explain.

That trick, despite being cliché, was quite effective.

"Genevieve, I’ll turn Peyton down. Please don't distance yourself from us. Mom and Dad miss you…"

"Isabella!"

I looked up to see my mother—or rather, Nicole Butler, as I preferred to call her now.

Nicole rushed to Isabella’s side, glaring at me.

"Genevieve, are you ignoring everything I say? I told you not to disturb Isabella!"

Right on cue, Isabella found herself unable to speak properly, starting to gasp.

"Mom, it wasn't Genevieve… it was me…"

I sighed and clarified, "Your daughter asked to meet me, and she’s the one holding my hand right now!"

"Your sister is like this, and you're still saying such things!"

Nicole was furious, raising her hand to slap me.

With Isabella clutching my other hand, dodging wasn't an option, so I turned my head, using my free hand to gently push Nicole away. Her slap missed me and inadvertently landed on Isabella's face.

The slap made Isabella's head tilt, naturally loosening her grip. I quickly pulled free and ignored Nicole's shouting as I rushed out of the café.

Standing by the street, about to hail a cab, a Bentley Continental pulled up in front of me.

"Get in," Kingsley said, leaning out the window with a smile.

Feeling awkward about riding in my boss’s car, I noticed Nicole and Isabella hurrying towards me… and before I knew it, I was already in the passenger seat.

As the car started moving and we drove away, a realization struck me belatedly: Did it really take him that long to get his car? Could he have been waiting for me the entire time?